


Teach Me How To Listen

by undercoverbastard



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, High School, drama I guess, i wrote this actual years ago but i reuploaded it so i dunno, short series, there's just some drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-17 17:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18102695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undercoverbastard/pseuds/undercoverbastard
Summary: This is where I left off on this short series over a year ago. I barely remember what I wrote or what I planned for it. Maybe I'll come back and finish it soon, but until then this is all I have to offer you guys.





	1. Chapter 1

Wednesday, December 3rd.

It’s third period and  _good God you couldn’t wait for the day to be over with_. It was block schedule at your school so you only had three classes every day; 1-3 on odd days and 4-6 on even days. So it was now nearing 3:15 in the afternoon and you were ready to leave, but as the bell rang and your school work found its way into your bag, a hand stopped on your shoulder and a mumbled phrase of “please stay behind, will you” came with it.

So, with a reluctant sigh, you sank back down into your chair, pulling out your phone from your jacket pocket and sending a text to your group chat, letting your friends know that their ride for the day would be a few minutes late. Once it sent, you slide it back into its designated pocket and instead fiddled with the keys in your hand, toying with the small trinkets you had on your keychain. Soon the class was empty, the last student leaving once they slid in some late work into the teacher’s outbox. You remained in your seat in the middle of the room, your book bag on the table next to you.

“Ms. Y/L/N, how are you this fine afternoon?” your teacher, Mr. Blackburn, asked, taking a seat on a tabletop in front of you, his hands in his pockets and his glasses now in his shirt pocket. With a quirk of the eyebrow, you leaned forward, arms on the table, giving your teacher a questioning look. “No offense, Mr. Black, but why did you keep me…? I’m a straight A, AP student who has over  95% attendance. I’m pulling an almost perfect grade in your class… Did I do something to upset another student or teacher, or…?” you asked, cutting right to the chase, not wanting to mess around or beat around the bush. Along with being one of the school’s highest achieving students, you were also one of the bluntest.

With a sigh, Mr. Blackburn stood up, walking to his desk and grabbing a small notebook, handing it to you before returning to his previous seat. “Well, Ms. Y/L/N, this has nothing to do with you per say… but a peer of yours. I have a boy in my first period who is barely passing this class and with how his test is looking, won’t be passing for much longer. This student is also one of our school’s star athletes and has a possibility of a full ride scholarship. This is one of his only weak classes and his parents contacted me asking for the best tutoring centers. I suggest instead a fellow student… you. His parents are willing to pay you up to 17 an hour for the tutoring; three hours every Friday before his game and an hour every Tuesday and Saturday afternoon. I wanted to give you a chance to make some quick money… you are one of the only students in this school to know more than two languages fluently, which this boy needs desperately,” Mr. Blackburn explained. With a bewildered look, you looked down at the book in your hands, flipping open to the first page.

__**Newton Issaics  
** Junior - 1st Period  
French Level 2 

“So… this is the guy?” you asked slowly, flipping through the first few pages, seeing simple verbs, pronouns, simple dialect and conversation skills written on the page, a small lesson plan written for you, highlighting weak and strong points. “Newton Issaics?” you clarified, a small amused smirk on your lips. “Yes, that’s him. You are already fluent in French, and you only took French 4 as an easy course as well as to get your certificate at your graduation next year… Ms. Y/N, you know English, Russian, French, and your father tells me you know most German and are working on Spanish at home. That is four languages and counting. If anyone can teach this poor lad a thing or two about French it’s you - and you can make quick and easy money! So, what do you say?” your teacher asks, looking at you with an almost pleading glint in his eyes. With a sigh you nod, agreeing. You knew he wouldn’t leave you alone until you agreed. Everyone knows the only tutoring center in your small town honestly sucked. They taught Spanish, French, and English - all of which new learners who aren’t necessarily literate in it. So yes, this boy’s best bet was you. He was pulling a 60.2% in the class and that was only because of his spotless attendance record and the fact that Mr. Blackburn gave a 50% as the lowest test score possible as long as every question had a legitimate attempt at an answer. Besides those facts, the boy would have had a 30% at best, honestly.

“Oh thank you! This boy’s father is a family friend of mine and a business partner of my wife’s. I truly do appreciate it, Y/N, I can even talk to the principal and probably get it written off as community service so you can add it to your college applications as well,” Mr. Blackburn smiled brightly, a hum in his tone. “Oh! And here is his address,” he said, handing you a piece of paper from his pocket, “this Friday will be your first meeting with him. I’ll see you on that day so I can give you some papers to use with him before you leave.” With a nod you took the paper, tucking it into the notebook. You smiled politely at your teacher, quickly saying you had friends waiting for their ride, aka you, and you had to leave. You rushed from the classroom, a deep sigh leaving your lips as you stuffed some books and folders into your locker before you left the building, making your way to your car that had three people leaning against it.

“Ah! There she is,” Minho grinned, clapping as he straightened up to give you a wide, toothy grin. “FInally,” Teresa groaned, sliding off of the hood of the car, pushing Gally on the shoulder to get him to stop falling asleep on the other side of the car. With a laugh, you unlocked your car, Teresa climbing in front and the two boys int he back. “So, what did Mr. B want with you? Become a naughty little rule breaker overnight, did ya?” Minho teased, winking at you through the rearview mirror as you all buckled up. You rolled your eyes and shook your head, backing out and heading out of the school parking lot. “No, he just wanted to ask me to help tutor another student in French or whatever. Nothing really. But, moving on from anything school related, who wants to grab some burgers and shakes at Ferrel’s before we head home?” you replied, already putting your blinker on to head towards the old fashioned themed ice cream and burger joint down the block.

“Fuck yes, I love you,” Gally sighed, his arms lazily encircling your neck from behind you as he began to fall back asleep, “I’m starved.” Teresa snorted, turning in her seat. “You ate an entire bag of chips and half my sandwich from lunch while we waited for Y/N, fatass. But whatever, I’m totally down for one of their mint chip shakes and their cheese fries,” Teresa agreed after teasing your friend. Everyone chuckled at her and you rolled your eyes, laughing at your friends.  _God you lot were a mess_. 

* * *

When you got to Ferrel’s, you all climbed out of the car and made your way inside. Chatting and laughing as you went, you all made your way to a small booth, plucking out some menus on the way as a waitress instructed you to seat yourselves. You and Gally sat on one side and Minho and Teresa on the other. You all began to chat aimlessly, briefly looking over the menu - as if you didn’t all get the exact same fucking thing every time.

“Hey, I gotta go tot he bathroom real quick, don’t order without me,” you stated, slipping from the booth. “Here, I’ll join you. I think Minho got some candy of something in my hair after he threw all that crap at me in your car,” Teresa grumbled, putting her phone back into her back pocket. She had been grumbling about it for the past five minutes, staring at her front camera and raking her fingers through her hair as the Asian boy beside her smirked triumphantly at his handiwork. “Girls. Always have to go in packs,” Gally muttered, flipping lazily through a menu. “Maybe they’re all just trying to get away from you, shuckface,” Teresa muttered back, earning a grumpy ‘hey!’ as she scuttered away with you in tow, both laughing like school children at Gally.

As you both walked towards the bathroom, talking about random things, mostly about how Minho “finally got the balls” to ask Teresa out a couple weeks ago, you both ran into someone. Well… more so something. As Teresa was talking about her date with Minho to the country fair in immense detail, you didn’t see the distracted boy walking to your right and you both collided. Unluckily for both you and Teresa, said boy was carrying a large to-go cup full of a caramel brownie shake in his hand. As you both stumbled into each other, his cup went flying from his hand, the top coming off in the process, and both you and Teresa got a… sticky make-over to say the least.

“Hey! Watch it you- oh fucking shit,” came the mumbled voice, accent thickening as he began to curse, sliding his phone into his back pocket as he came to look at both of you fully. “Jesus Christ!” Teresa groaned, looking down at her shirt and pants, both covered in the cold, sweet drink that once belonged to the stranger. With a sigh, you wiped the whip cream and caramel off your cheek, only making yourself stickier in the process. “Thanks,” you deadpanned, glaring at the guy in front of you. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one not watching where I was going,” he frowned. “Here,” he mumbled, sliding a backpack off his shoulder and offering a gray sweater to Teresa. She grumbled and snatched it, walking off to the bathroom. You stood there, still getting bits of whip cream and brownie off your face and tossing them in the trashcan near you, as the mystery boy watched.

“Enjoying the show?” you rolled your eyes, throwing the last bit of brownie bits for your shirt into the trash can. “What? Oh- no- oh well… here,” the boy stuttered, sliding off a varsity jacket from his shoulders. It had your school colors and mascot on it, and you’re sure if you looked on the back you would find a team number. The football, soccer, basketball, and hockey teams all had the same jackets. The only difference was the small badges on the left shoulder, each one representing the individual sports. You didn’t have time to look at the sport’s badge, but you hesitantly took it. “You sure…?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. With a shrug, the boy just nodded. “I’ll give you my number, you can give it back to me tomorrow or something.”

With a mumbled thanks, you walked off to the bathroom to get changed. You found Teresa, head halfway in the sink and a soaking wet t-shirt hung over the side of said sink. She had managed to get most of the shake out of her hair and off her chest, the small remains left on the thigh’s of her pants were now wet patches. “At least he gave up clean tops,” Teresa grumbled, slipping on the gray sweater that was barely too big for her but way too long for her height. With a laugh, you continued washing out your hair, your shirt discarded to the side and the jacket hanging over a stall door. “Yeah, I guess. Driving home like that would have been terrible,” you agreed. You both continued the conversation of Teresa’s date, you scrubbing your chest and neck as you listened. Once you were as clean as you were going to get, you took some paper towels and dried yourself off, ringing out your hair and tying it in a high, messy bun. You looked like a trainwreck, but you at least weren’t covered in milkshake anymore.

“Let’s go. We have to get that guy’s number to give him his clothes back later this week,” you muttered, pulling on the varsity jacket and buttoning it up. But, upon exiting, you saw the mysterious, clumsy athlete nowhere in sight. With a shrug, Teresa led you both back to the table. “Well, it looks like he at least goes to Heights High, so we can find him tomorrow or something,” Teresa said, sliding back into the booth. Both of you immediately began the story of the milkshake and the jackets before either of the boys could ask.

But, God damn, were those burgers and fries worth that sticky situation.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday. December 5th. Game Night.

It was nearing 7 pm and all of you and your friends were heading out to a soccer game. Teresa muttered something about her cousin playing and Gally mentioned having a good friend on the team. So here you all were - sitting in the bleachers, nachos, sandwiches, and in your case the world’s largest cup of coffee in hand. It was chilly, but not too terrible you thought. Teresa brought a handful of blankets, everyone sitting on them and curling into them. You wore the varsity jacket that the strange boy gave to you. The patch on the left arm was one belonging to the soccer team, so you knew he would be here tonight. You hoped to spot him and give it back, although you were now realizing you never brought a second jacket because you were the most intelligent person to ever go to Heights High.

“Welcome to the Glade, everyone! I’m your announcer and everyone’s favorite register at nutrition, Siggy! Tonight is a home game between our own Heights High Gladers and WCKD High Cranks. The game starts in only four minutes, so grab your snacks, curl up in your jackets, and get ready,” Siggy, or how everyone else knew him as Frypan, exclaimed. Frypan was a happy, joyous boy - he picked up a job in the cafeteria Freshman year, and he soon became one of the most popular registers during break time and nutrition, mostly because he also sold his own baked goods to students if they bought something from his cart.  You sat quietly, sipping at the coffee in between your hands, glancing to the side to see Minho’s arm curled around Teresa as she laughed and put the end of a sour straw into his mouth, laughing even louder as he slurped it up like a pasta noodle.

Shaking your head you smiled at them. Looking up above you slightly you saw Gally who was seated with a girl you had never met before. But after hearing bits of their conversation you knew that her name was Sonya and that she came to cheer on her brother who would be playing tonight. Gally seemed content on sharing his nachos with the girl as they chatted aimlessly, and you smiled at them too, happy Gally was smiling and talking nicely instead of grumbling or complaining at the usual. But quickly the game launched into action, and your eyes strained from the top of the bleachers to find the blonde haired boy on the field, trying to pinpoint him. But there were a handful of tall, lean blondes and you could barely see any other features besides hair and the baggy shirts over their torsos.

Oh well, you thought, I’ll have to try to find him after. And with that, you threw several pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you watched people cheer and groan. You were amused as you watched Teresa, halfway into the game, shrieking as she stood up. “Tom! You moron! Don’t pass to defense if you’re playing a forward! You just completely backtracked oh my God no, you idiot- no- just- oh my God, you just passed it to the other team,” Teresa groaned, slumping back into her seat. Minho laughed, rubbing her shoulder chuckled from amusement.

To be honest, you weren’t too into sports. You did t-ball when you were a kid and played soccer for a handful of years, but you instead fell in love with the arts and learning. So when the game came to an end and you completely were clueless on who won due to your daydreaming, you were unsurprised and mostly uncaring. But quickly you stood up, snatching the gray sweater/hoodie that Teresa had brought with her and mumbled a “gonna go find the blondie” before hurrying off down the stairs. Already the boys were gathering water bottles and bags to go and shower and change. Your school won, unsurprisingly, and the opposing team sluggishly left the team.

The soccer team was laughing and cheering, chatting away. Some of the boys’ girlfriends came over to congratulate others ran off to celebrate with parents or friends, but a little over half stayed, cheering and talking animatedly. Once you got within a couple of yards of the team, a few boys saw you and mumbled to one another, snickering and grabbing the attention of some of the others. “Did our boy reel in a catch or what?!” one boy said. He was tall, lean, thoroughly muscled, and had dark chocolate hair and warm caramel eyes. They twinkled with mischief but also kindness. “Now that’s a catch,” another boy smirked, leaning an arm on the other boy’s shoulder. He had dark, chocolate skin and stubbly black hair, a piercing white smile and light brown eyes that were streaked with a dark green it looked.

With a roll of your eyes, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of the varsity jacket you had on and walked right up to the first boy to say something about you. You looked up, pushing a small lock of hair from your face and raised an eyebrow expectantly at him. “Well?” you asked, “Do you know who’s the shank that owns this damn jacket or what?” He looked shocked and opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a familiar voice.

“Aye! Tom! What the fuck, loser?” came Teresa’s voice. “Hey! And stop hitting on my friends! Y/N’s my back-up in case this shank doesn’t keep up with me,” Teresa said, rolling her eyes as a thumb jut out to point at Minho, who in return gave a small cry of a protest. “I wasn’t hitting on your friend, it looks like she’s already been claimed,” Tom replied, a smirk coming back to his light peach lips, gesturing to the jacket. “Is that my brother’s jacket?” came a voice, and you noticed the blonde girl who was sitting with Gally now stood next to Tom, eyebrows raised. “Maybe? I don’t know the guy or anything,” you shrugged in response. “Tapping it and leaving them clueless. What a shank!” the second boy from earlier cried, sniggering.

“More like spilling milkshakes all over people and giving them something besides a sugar infested shirt to wear as an apology, but yea, close enough,” you replied, eyes rolling as sarcasm dripped from your lips. Sonya went to reply but another boy stepped up and looked at his teammates in confusion. “Thomas? Ben? What the hell? Sonya, what the bloody hell are you doing here?” it was him, you automatically decided. The accent, the hair, the twinkling eyes, and the scrawny and lean body structure were all identical. His eyes wondered over each face and then landed on yours, and his eyes widened, surprised.

“I’m here to cheer my brother on, dumbass. But Newt, who’s this?” Sonya asked, gesturing towards you, her face full of curiosity. “You’re Newt? Newton Issaics?” you asked after a minute, and the boy nodded slowly. With a shake of the head, you slid the varsity jacket off and handed t to him with his hoodie. “These belong to you from the incident on Wednesday. Thanks again…Newt,” you said, eyeing him up and down. You wore high waisted black skinnies and a simple, baggy grey tank top. your hands went into your pockets, bumps appearing on your arms as the cool air hit you.

By this point, most of Newt’s teammates had gotten distracted. Gally was talking to en, Teresa was joking with Thomas and introducing Minho, and Sonya was talking to another guy, laughing and shaking her head. Newt looked at you curiously, slipping his varsity jacket back around your shoulders. “You’re cold. Give it back another time,” he decided, holding the hoodie you handed him still. With a crooked smile, you thanked him before looking down and glancing at the thin watch on your wrist. “Shit, gotta go. Nice meeting you, Issaics,” you grinned before turning to leave, jogging off.

“Wait!” Newt called, jogging a few feet, still a couple of yards away from you. “Who are you? I never got a name and you somehow knew my full name, that’s a bit unfair,” Newt said, smiling slightly. You backed away, looking at him and raising your arms into a shrug, grinning wildly. “Guess you’ll have to wait to find out, Issaics!” you called, then continued running off.

* * *

It was already 9 pm but you were in your car driving to Newt’s house. Mr. Blackburn had given you his address, his number, and his mother’s number. You had gotten a message from his mother asking if you could come over after his game so she could meet you. You were supposed to meet him before the game, but things came up. You agreed, deciding this would be a short meeting, only an hour, to meet everyone and discuss things.

So here you were, your car parked on the side of the street in front of a nice, decent sized two-story house, lights on and the front door open with only a glass door cutting the inviting house out from the nipping cold. You walked up to the door and were greeted almost instantly after knocking a couple of times. A short, lean woman who was maybe in her mid-40s appeared and instantly welcomed you in. You had taken off Newt’s varsity jacket and held it folded in your arm. The woman grinned and welcomed you enthusiastically, guiding you to a glass kitchen table that had a thin, white lace covering over it. On the table were 4 cups of steaming cocoa in it and a plate of cookies. You could already tell you would like Mrs. Issaics.

“Come in dear! Newton is just getting home now with his sister from his game, and his father will be coming down any minute now,” the woman smiled. She had light teddy brown hair, much like Newts. It was thin and cut right below her collar bones, framing her face in a welcoming, warm kind of way. She had small, thin hands that moved nimbly and gracefully, arranging a couple of folders and small stacks of paper. She was just explaining to you how much you tutoring him meant to her and her husband when said man joined you, holding a large, calloused hand out to greet you. He too was a thin man, but he was very tall and was muscular from head to toe. He looked maybe a couple of years younger than his wife but neither showed their age all that much. He wore baggy dark brown dress pants and had a simple plaid shirt tucked into his pants, glasses hanging from said shirt pocket. He sat next to his wife and took a small drink from the cup, snatching a cookie while his wife continued to talk.

You listened quietly and patiently, smiling and nodding when appropriate. Mrs. Issaics had just checked her watch when the door opened. “Mom! Dad! I’m home, I dropped Sonya off at Brenda’s,” the voice called out, a small clatter being heard as shoes were slipped off and knocked against the wall and a heavy bag thud against the floor. Walking into the dining area, he paused. You looked over your shoulder and smiled, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Newt’s own eyes widened, and his breath caught for a second as he realized just who was going to be his tutor.

“Newton, dear! Come, sit! This is Y/N, she will be your tutor for French. I was just showing her some of your last tests and the paperwork Mr. Blackburn sent us last week,” his mother smiled kindly, gesturing tot he chair next to you, the last cup of hot chocolate inviting him. You yourself had been eating a simple sugar cookie, sipping away at the warm, creamy liquid that was too inviting to resist in your mug. “You,” he mumbled quietly, narrowing his eyes as he sat down next to you as if he were analyzing you. “How nice to meet you, Newton,” you smiled, the same glint in your eyes as you put a hand up to shake his own hand. He did so slowly, before taking a sip from his own mug.

“I was thinking that tonight, once we were all introduced, Y/N here could show us her skills in French. I’ve heard your fluent! I figured no tutoring tonight, just a bit of introduction and such, is that okay with you dear?” Mrs. Issaics asked, a hand resting over your wrist as she smiled at you and then glanced at Newt. Newt shrugged and you nodded politely. “Yes, of course. And actually, ma’am, I am fluent in 4 languages and am learning my 5th,” you responded kindly to the woman. You felt the need and desire to impress her, to gain her acceptance, and you quickly did. “Oh! How amazing!” she gasped, amazed by the statement. Newt choked on his drink, sputtering for a moment. “Fifth?!” he asked incredulously and you simply nodded, throwing him a lopsided grin as your response.

 

After only an hour, you were headed home. Your mugs were empty, most of the cookies had been eaten, and you had learned enough interesting facts about the Issaics family for the night. Mr. Issaics told you about his travels and how he himself knew two languages, Mrs. Issaics discussed her work and how Mr. Blackburn’s wife had suggested you per the eager recommendation of her husband, and Newt… well, he was quietly mostly. You got to know them a bit, discussed meeting times, materials needed, and the best way to approach the need for studying and learning the language.

By the end of the night, you had an ‘appointment’ with Newt tomorrow at 3 o’clock that evening. You slipped the jacket onto his lap before leaving, smiling at him, throwing a silent thank you at him before leaving through the door. As you got back into your car, after shooting a text to your mother to let her know that you were leaving now and would see her soon, you couldn’t help but grin widely. Newt intrigued you. In a way, you thought that fate was a cruel person who had a weird sense of humor. But then you decided that the world was just an unexplainable place that made you tutor the boys who spilled milkshakes on your favorite band tank tops at your favorite ice cream parlor.

You were oddly for tomorrow. And as you climbed into bed, you hummed in a soft contentedness as you curled into your sheet.  _I’m going to teach that boy French if it’s the last thing I do,_  you decided before drifting off to sleep. And you were not easily led astray from things you committed to.  


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday. 11.42 AM.

With a groan you rolled over onto your back, staring up at the ceiling. Your hair laid around you, creating a knotted, frizzy halo around your head - one that would take you a good ten minutes to detangle and rearrange. Sighing, you threw your arm over your eyes, your eyes finding solace in the dark corner of your elbow.

After you put it off long enough and once you were cold enough to actually get up to retrieve your thrown blanket from your floor, you finally woke up. With a swing on your legs you were standing on the floor, stretching and cracking your neck, back, arms, and ah - yes - your neck again, just for good measure. With a contented lazy smile, you walked out of your room and down the hallway, stumbling still a bit bleary-eyed into the bathroom.

With just a faint and brief glance into the mirror, you knew you were a hot mess. Brush in hand you began to brush out your hair with one hand, the other turning on the shower. As you waited for the water to warm up you continued pulling at and detangling your rat’s nest you liked to call “hair”. After a minute’s wait, the shower was ready. With a few more tugs and rushed strokes of the brush, you got out the majority of the knots, only leaving some small ones in your wake. You stripped out of your sweatshirt, kicked off your shorts, and all but fell into the shower.

Now you were awake. And now, you had to clean yourself. High school sports games and events apparently meant that you had to obtain a layer of the grime and dirt - even if you weren’t the one playing said event. And so, that’s how you spent your late morning; scrubbing yourself red.

 

12:58 AM.

With a hum, you tossed your towel into a hamper. You showered, dried off, got dressed, and attempted once more to wring out your hair - though the dampness still stayed after another couple minutes of squeezing and pressing. And with said defeat, you found your way into the kitchen. You had 2 hours before you had to go and tutor Newt - and the thought had barely registered in your head.

Instead, you continued about your day. A box of cereal was in hand and so was a bowl. As you continued humming along, pouring yourself a very… considerate, portion of cereal, you turned back around, grabbing out the milk to top off said dish. While sitting on the counter, legs crossed, munching on your cereal as you looked out the window, the bright pink post-it on the fridge left by your mom was forgotten almost as soon as it was noticed. _Probably another late night or she has to go to another dinner,_  you thought, a small tug of sadness tugging at your heart, a shrug following directly after.

Your mom worked a lot - she supported you in everything you did. She made time for you when she could - but you also acknowledged that she was busy with her job - and she was so close to her goal, too. So lonely Saturday mornings spent eating cereal by yourself were bearable enough whenever the thought of being able to see her more than three nights a week for dinner would be a possibility with this promotion came along with it.

By the time you had finished your bowl of cereal, you had barely realized it was gone. With a half frown you tipped your head side to side before hopping off the counter, deciding that yes, an orange goes perfectly with cereal and balances out the most important meal of your day. And so you grabbed an orange, peeling it before heading back upstairs to continue your journey for the day.

1:37 PM.

You had to leave the house by about 2:35-2:40 to get to Newt’s, at 3. But being raised by your mother who was a prude towards lateness, you knew you had to leave at about 2:20 in order to get there about 15 minutes early - just as you were taught to. So, glancing at the clock, you knew you had a good amount of time. “What do I need, what do I need, what oh what could I ever so need,” you mused to yourself, grabbing an empty satchel bag from behind your door. Glancing about, you rummaged in your closet for your old French 2 textbook, and with a few fruits and plenty of persistence, you found the sucker. Check one. Newt, you thought, you need the notebook Mr. Blackburn gave to you. And just as it should have been, it laid inside your book bag from a few days ago, nestled int he back behind your own personal notebooks. Check two. Finally, you would need the small stuff; high light, pen, pencil, and post-it notes. Check three.

Glancing into the small satchel you grinned to yourself. You knew you liked to be way too organized than you as a person truly were. Your notes were always color-coded, organized, and sectioned off. But, well… the rest of you was lucky it wasn’t forgotten in a drawer somewhere.  You were forgetful, clumsy, and very disorganized - but at least you had nice notes, right? With a small laugh at yourself, you flopped back down onto your bed, looking up at the ceiling. You had pulled on your sweats, got on your shoes, packed your bag, had eaten and you had showered - what else did you need to do besides go and teach this boy how to speak?

Glancing at the bright blue numbers on your alarm clock, the numbers 2:01 glared back at you silently. With a groan you knit your eyebrows together, weighing the pros and cons of leaving early. On one hand, it shows your punctuality and you could even be done sooner. On the other hand, he may be out doing errands or he might find it odd that you would just show up an hour before the agreed upon meeting time. With a couple more minutes of pondering, the words _“fuck it”_ stuck out and stuck to you before you grabbed your bag and left out the front door, keys and phone in hand. Punctuality was a good quality to show off.

* * *

About 30 minutes later you pulled into Newt’s driveway, only one other car being parked in it. Once parked, you shut off the engine, double checking your bag to make sure that you did indeed have everything you deemed necessary for the occasion. With a final huff of air, you climbed out of your car, scuffling towards the front door, a small, excited smile resting on your lips as a buzzing feeling came to rest inside your stomach again. Pushing back said feeling, you knocked on the front door. Your knocks were hard, loud, and curt.

A mumbled line of words and some shuffling around could be heard. Soon, another boy opened the door. It was the boy from the game - Thomas. With a wicked grin, Thomas leaned against the door frame, grinning at you as he gave you a quick once over.

“Well, you aren’t pizza,” Thomas quipped, mockingly almost.

“And you aren’t a good sense of humor,” you replied dryly, a raise of the eyebrow added for flare. Thomas snorted, rolling his eyes, but the grin staying in place. It grew wider. Thomas studied you for a minute, quietly, deciding his next approach, but you only grew more impatient - it was cold and your hair was still damp and damp sweaters didn’t keep people very warm, okay?

“Hey! Tommy, what’s your dumb shank-self doing, letting all my warm air out, eh?” came a British accent, the teasing tone all too evident. “Company,” Thomas called back, grinning at you before straightening up, making room for you to enter. And at the same time, Newt came strolling up - his eyes widening as he saw you. A blush settled on his cheeks, his fingers carding through his hair quickly, flicking the stray strands from his face like a nervous habit he had picked up. His feet shuffled and he cleared his throat, throwing an eyebrow up as he greeted you.

“Y/N! I wasn’t expecting you for hours it’s onl- oh. It’s 2:34. Oh, well… I wasn’t expecting you for another 30 minutes at least then,” Newt offered, rubbing the back of his neck. You blushed lightly, though not too much from embarrassment, moreso from how stupid you felt - that was beside the point now. “Nah, no worries. I can come back lat-” you began, waving off the issue, about to retract your steps. But then a hand pulled you in, wrappings its long, firm fingers around your wrist and tugging you inside to the warmth of the house. Thomas grinned down at you, shaking his head as if to restate his disapproval of your statement

“Nah don’t even worry! Once pizza gets here and we all eat, we’ll all go back across the street to my place, but you - you don’t need to be out in the cold. So join us,” Thomas suggested, an arm throwing itself around your shoulders, leading you back into the living room. Your voice stuttered, rising up to give an excuse - to dismiss the idea. You didn’t want to intrude and honestly you felt kind of out of place being in a house filled with only boys, you presumed. But soon, Thomas was sitting you down in a big, comfy chair, a glass and concrete table in front of you offering a small selection of drinks and snacks - mostly candies, but snacks nonetheless. Thomas flopped back down on one of the couches, a dark-skinned boy next to him - a boy you had never met. They continued with their game, and Newt came back into the room directly after - a fourth boy following him.

“Uh, Y/N, well - you know Tommy, I suppose - and me, obviously. This is NIck, and then that there is Alby,” Newt awkwardly introduced, his thumb sticking out to the boy right behind him first then his hand flinging in the general area of where the other nameless boy sat. “Nice to meet all of y-” you began to reply, a shy smile playing on your lips before you were cut off b yet another voice.

“Excuse you! Don’t forget about me!” came a voice, and a short, chubby boy around the age of 11-12 popped up from around Newt, large chocolate curls framing his face and a roll of his eyes accompanying his statement. He looked at you and smiled, snagging a seat on the end of the couch directly next to you. “I’m Chuck, that dumb shank forgot to include me in the previous introduction,” the boy grinned, greeting you. 

“Y/N. And the pleasure is all mine, Chuck,” you laughed, smiling at the boy. Newt threw you another apologetic smile before being dragged to the couch Chuck sat on, both sitting up at the top of the piece of furniture. But the apologetic look was gone, his eyes soon focused on the screen where he and Nick had joined in on the game once again. Upon closer inspection, you realized it was Mario Kart, and your eyes almost rolled out of your head.

 _Of course._ What else would a group of17 and 18-year-old boys be doing on a Saturday afternoon besides playing Mario Kart? With a small laugh to yourself, you looked at Chuck who decided to start a small side conversation, which you quickly decided to participate in. You supposed you could wait the extra hour or so to tutor Newt. This wasn’t too bad of a setup. Maybe you could even steal a turn at Mario Kart, after all, the boys shouldn't be the ones having all the fun.


	4. Chapter 4

2 hours.

The pizza came only twenty minutes after you arrived, but Chuck just had to show you this cool pocket knife he had found the other day. And the boys just had to beat Rainbow Road. And Newt just had to go buy ice cream to finish off the pizza. So, after plenty of food, lots of yelling boys, and more than twenty rounds on Rainbow Road, the boys soon left, leaving you and Newt.

And so far, so good. It had been a little over an hour and tutoring had gone better than you expected. Newt’s notes were very organized, not as organized as yours, but organized nonetheless. And he picked up on simple dialect, his biggest problem being how to change the end of verbs to fit groups of people and genders it seemed. But he most definitely was not daft on the subject of Fench - he was quite smart and knew a lot about it, but applying it was harder than anything else.

With a closing sound, Newt sighed and leaned back into the couch, shifting to face you more. His head lulled back into the couch cushion, his legs sagged to the sides, widening his stance, and his arms laid limply across the pillow cushions. You raised an eyebrow, tucking loose hair behind your ear as you put down your book and pen, pulling your legs out from a sitting position and up to lay in front of you, your knees pulled to your chest. You looked at Newt, expecting an answer for his change of position and a reason for stopping your study session.

“I’m bored. Let’s do something,” Newt declared. You laughed and raised your eyebrow once more, daring him to throw out suggestions. You yourself were growing tired of this tutoring. Your legs were numb, your hips were sore from how you were sitting, your tongue was getting a weird static feeling from talking so much, and your head was overwhelmed with so many thoughts of French rushing past inside it. So to say you were up for an adventure of the sort was an understatement. Suddenly, Newt’s lips cracked into a shit-eating grin, his body moving forward, elbows resting on now upright legs and his eyes twinkling with a bit of a glimmer.

“Have you ever been Amoria’s very own hot spring waterfall?” Newt asked, eyes dancing with curiosity. And honestly, no, you hadn’t. Amoria was a good-sized city. It wasn’t a small town but was far from being a bustling city - it was a good pace with enough nightlife to have burger joints open until 2 am but not busy enough to have more than one 24 hour corner store. With curiosity getting the best of you, you leaned forward, excitement seeming to be magnetic poles bringing you and the blonde Brit in front of you closer. “Can’t say I have.”

And so here you are. Twenty minutes later, after Newt has thrown a random bathing suit at you, claiming it was a size too big for his sister that never got returned and would do fine for today, and grabbing towels and a small bag of “necessities”, you were sitting in Newt’s car, seat belt clicking into place as he backed out of his driveway “Where is this place anyway?” you wondered, you left leg shifting to be situated under you as your sight leg leaned lazily wedged between the door, the edge of the seat and the cup holders beside you.

“Old Tavern’s Twin Peaks,” Newt grinned, and you got instantly more intrigued. Old Tavern was a more country part of the city. Only about 15  people lived out there in big old farmhouses that had pools and car garages added on. Most had horses or housed horses for the city’s riders. And in Old Tavern was a small forest area, hidden behind two small hills nicknames Twin Peaks. A handful of old tree houses and small little huts had been built out there from far kids and the city’s teens over the years. You remember a year back going to a small bonfire out there. Valeria Montoya began letting people do body shots off her stomach and Nick Mansons brought weed brownies that had more than just weed in them and you left before 11 since someone had already lit their jacket on fire within the first hour. It was a good memory. Concerning. But good.

“Exciting,” you hummed out, turning the radio up and watching out the window. Newt was a short drive to Old Tavern and it was about a five-minute drive to Twin Peaks once you entered Old Tavern. So it was a short drive but just long enough for a few good songs. And so that’s what you did - humming away to “ Drugs and Candy” by ALT, watching as the trees passed, and glancing at Newt who seemed anxious to arrive at this supposed “hot spring waterfall” you had yet to hear about.

 

* * *

 

 

You now understood why you had never heard of the hot spring. Once you arrived, Newt dragged you on about a 25-minute hike up into the side of the hill, walking between one of the large rock formations into this almost hidden cove that had a small waterfall that ran into a good sized hot spring. Around it was trees, flowers, several dirt paths that had been walked one too many times, and random small bits of graffiti that were too artistically developed to be just tagging.

After hiding behind a few rocks to change, you came out, bathing suit on, skin covered in goose bumps from the cold, and was met with an equally bumpy Newt when grinned at you with chattering teeth and an icy hand. “You’ll love it,” he promised, squeezing your hand as he led you to the side of the hot spring. The hot spring and waterfall weren’t always connected it seemed. And the closer to the waterfall you got the colder the water got, but you figured it helped circulate the water at least, which was good. And although you were covered in goosebumps and your lips were getting a pale pink tint to them, you loved how everything looked around you. Leaves still fell from a few trees, littering the water and ground. Dying flowers shed their last petals, and brush still lived lively and bright around you. It was a pretty sight.

“Better?” you heard, hands grabbing your sides and pulling you further in, the water moving up your back and shoulders, enclosing you like a blanket. And yes. It did feel better. “God yes,” you groaned, eyes slipping shut as you loosened your limbs in the water and let out a sigh of pleasure. Newt laughed and moved his hands away, humming his own content feelings as he relaxed and sunk lower into the water. The hot spring had steam rising around you and it felt like the most amazing thing in the world. The mere thought of having to get out made you want to cry or scream - maybe both.

After every stressful in life, it was nice to relax - and somehow being with Newt made it even better. He was like a playful, charming, calm presence that made things seem lighter. Have a softer note to them. It was a nice change form the wild edge Teresa had or the daring, adventurous streak Minho presented when you were with either of them. Newt was just… a laid back, calming presence that made things slow down a fraction of a second.

“Thank you for bringing me here, God, how did I go my entire life without coming here?” you sighed, grinning as your eyes slipped close while you spoke. Newt laughed and you felt the water move as his body turned about in it. “I found it with a few friends - only 6 or 7 people know about this place. We’ve had a couple of small bonfires here, Harriet did some art over there once. It’s kinda like a secret hideout, yeah?” Newt laughed, floating in the water and just relaxing into the conversation and mood of the atmosphere.

“Maybe I should have met you sooner. Could have seen this place sooner,” you joked, chuckling lightly to yourself. You felt Newt move again, but you ignored it, just assuming he was swimming or floating about. “I wish you had met me sooner too. But not just for the hot spring,” Newt laughed, and this time you opened your eyes to smile at him, humming.

Newt smiled at you, his arms, floating in the water just like yours, his hair dripping water down his face and sticking to his skin, but his eyes still wide and serene as always. He always had that presence to himself. And then, one minute you saw his eyes, glimmering with that small spark of curiosity from before, and the next, the pink lips that shook in the cold air were pushed on yours, the ice cold skin soon becoming a warming presence. And you were kissing Newton Issaics, the boy from a French class you weren’t even in on a sports team you held little interest in that had a warm glowing calming aurora to his name.

And you were kissing him back. And if it weren’t for the wetness of your hair and the nipping cold hair that bit at the damp skin around the tops of your shoulders and the back of your neck, the moment would have been a fairytale moment. Your arms around his stomach, his hand holding your chin and the other cradling the back of your head, surrounded by beautiful nature in a hot spring. It was indeed a fairy tale set up.

But life doesn’t end after the first kiss. It keeps going. It keeps going until second period on Monday morning.


	5. Chapter 5

Tuesday. 10:42 AM.

It was the next time you saw Newt since your ‘adventure’ and study session together on Saturday. After the hot spring, he drove you back to your car after buying you a hot chocolate to warm you up. You thanked him and you both agreed to discuss when to meet up next at school. Monday you had to go on a field trip for your own French class so Tuesday was when you saw him next.

Right now, 10:43, it was just after your first block period. School began at 8:25 and between first and second block you all got nutrition break, aka a 15-minute break that allowed everyone to drink as much coffee as possible to remain both awake and not frozen for the rest of the day. The break had just ended and both you and Newt had decided to meet up after your next block during lunch to discuss when to meet up again and what he needed help with. So you tucked your phone back into your pocket and leaned forward on your elbows, allowing the droning voice of your maths teacher to register in your mind as you began to jot down your color-coded notes as usual.

Teresa sat next to you at the two-seater table and Gally was in the front corner next to a boy who you couldn’t even recall the name of. While you took notes, Gally texted beneath the table and Teresa doodled on both her paper and your’s, getting a small scolding smack from you and a couple of eye rolls. And that’s how your second block went by, except the jiggling of your foot and the bite marks on your pencil were new from your new case of anxiousness. Your mind seemed to wander back to your kiss this last Saturday and a small smile traced the outline of your lips. You had yet to divulge this happening to any of your friends, even withholding it from Teresa, but it made you happy. Newt was a bit of sunshine your dull life enjoyed.

“Gotta dash,” you grinned, throwing your satchel over your shoulder and hastily snatching up your book and notepad, your pencil already stuffed in your hair or your bag - you couldn’t particularly remember where it got shoved in your haste.

“Dash where?” Teresa asked, watching you as she clumsily shoved her things into her own bag, but you already began to walk off. But, determined already, Teresa zoomed out of the bustling classroom in search of you and in no time her lithe legs caught up to yours - which were not as lithe nor as quick in pace. You bit your lip but your grin still shone as you glanced at your friend, who kept nudging you - demanding you explain your behavior and actions.

“I just, well you know how-” you began, a wildly happy look on your face as you both entered the cafeteria, Teresa about to make a dash to grab a sandwich as you were searching for Newt. But, it seemed that you didn’t need to search very far for the blond boy. He sat only a couple tables from the entrance - and a redhead sat on his lap.

You paused, slightly confused - you remembered his sister having equally dirty blonde hair as him so it wasn’t her. But then, it made sense. The energetic and amused red-headed girl plopped down on Newt’s laugh leaned forward and kissed him, his hands already on her narrow hips and his thumb tracing circles on the skin. And your throat got tight, remembering his thumb tracing those fuzzy patterns on your skin. And you felt sick. You felt disgusted. Not only had Newt not told you about his girlfriend, but you helped him cheat on his girlfriend. And she looked as sweet as could be. She looked like a girl you would be best friends with and would make crappy homemade pizzas with while wearing oversized shirts and eating store bought cookies while watching Netflix at 2 am. She looked like someone you would love to be friends with and be close with and go on drives with late at night while eating tacos or getting ice cream or just driving for hours.

And in your frozen state, you almost didn’t see the redhead pull back or see Newt look up at you, his face dripping with a sense of guilt and almost resentment. You had already walked so close to him it would be awkward to walk away. So, with a small shake of your head and shoulders and a quick, deep breath, you put as much pep into your step as you could and continued the last five to seven feet to be in front of his table

“Hey, Newt! So, uh, about tutoring - just text me when you want to meet up again or whatever, yea? We can even meet after class in Mr. B’s room or in the library. Whatever. Uh, yea… catch you later,” you muttered out the last bit, throwing a sincere and polite smile to the girl who happily returned the gesture. And you were gone. Teresa was at your heels and the thought of you being slower than her earlier was a lie - you walked a mile a minute, rushing outside, your hair flying around you and the cold biting at your cheeks and nose. You walked past your usual hang out and saw the boys, who were waiting with happy faces to greet you, but you turned another direction.

And soon, you were in your car, head on the steering wheel and tears on your cheeks and guilt in your stomach. You weren’t even angry he had a girlfriend. You weren’t upset he hadn’t told you about her sooner. You were angry because you helped someone cheat on their girlfriend. On their adorably sweet looking girlfriend who you wanted to get to know.

“Y/N? Y/N?! Y/N!” came voices, muffled and intermingled. Through blurred eyes, you saw Gally, Minho, and Teresa all in the parking lot, looking around until they spotted your car. Without hesitation, Teresa slid into the passenger seat and Minho stood beside her with the open door. Gally opened your door, bending his legs and all but lunging into the car to hold you as Teresa stroked your hair. You weren’t the one to cry. You got angry when you were sad. You hit things or punched pillows or went for a drive and sped most the way. You were an adrenaline junkie and would do things to raise your adrenaline when you felt like shit, always looking for a small high of bliss or happiness. Of euphoria, to help you out of your funk.

Your tears were rare. ‘Unicorn tears’ Gally called them, which Minho smacked him for the last time you cried. But here you were, crying - angrily wiping them away with your sleeves and hiccuping already. You were angry at yourself but sad because even though you were mad at your own self you were also sad because that meant you couldn’t have Newt. And that made you even more furious with yourself. How could you even be sad or self-pitying after helping someone cheat on their girlfriend? What kind of fucked up person does that? And the logical thought of understanding that you had no knowledge of her and that it was truly Newt’s fault int he whole ordeal, that he should have told you before, that he shouldn’t have ever even kissed you… that thought never came. It never appeared in your mind or came to form together in your entire act of self-hatred and sadness. Because all you could think of was how you ruined a perfectly good relationship that made a perfectly sweet girl happy.

It was a vicious cycle. But things were never this simple. Guys never just liked you. Things weren’t that plain.  They never had been. And they probably never will be, you thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I left off on this short series over a year ago. I barely remember what I wrote or what I planned for it. Maybe I'll come back and finish it soon, but until then this is all I have to offer you guys.


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